


Little Comforts

by Vetashad



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bullying, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, I’ll add tags as I go, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Time Skip, Secret Relationship, Tendou Satori Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vetashad/pseuds/Vetashad
Summary: “They know we’re best friends. Is it unusual for best friends to visit each other?” Satori’s mouth quirked at Wakatoshi’s response. He was trying to, well, deceive his family with his usual stoicism  and bluntness. He would offer nothing but the norm, just best friends hanging out before leaving for college and the pro leagues. They would never expect their exceedingly normal, in the ways that mattered to them, of course, son was sneaking in time to see his boyfriend; that was the sentiment the whole plan was banking on.“So…a sleepover?”
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	Little Comforts

**Author's Note:**

> tw // suicide, child abuse, bullying
> 
> HEY! This fic is rated Mature because it deals with some pretty heavy topics including referenced/past child abuse and neglect, bullying, and suggestions to a character to commit suicide. That being said, those things are referenced as memories, so there will be not graphic descriptions or "present" occurrences. If any of those things make you uncomfortable (because I do mention/describe the memories) please do not move forward! Please keep yourself safe!
> 
> But anyway, as always, enjoy the story and don't forget to leave me a comment telling me what you think! :D!!
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@vetashad](https://twitter.com/vetashad)

It was a…strange feeling for Satori, being graduated at long last. He had moved out of Shiratorizawa’s dorms for the last time, and for the first time without a promise of return, six days ago.

He had been excited to move forward; there were new opportunities around every corner, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t already miss the companionship and camaraderie of his friends. Over three years, they had become his little family, choosing to stay by his side over and over and over again, even when he did something decidedly _weird_ , or pushed their buttons a little too much, either purposefully, or not. 

They weren’t like other “friends” Satori had had before, that laughed at him for liking math or reading manga. They didn’t make fun of him because he cried when he was frustrated, or refused to go to weekend parties because the thought of so many strangers looking at him made him feel like throwing up, or when dirty jokes went right over his head even when he could explain the most obscure new trend to them. They took all his quirks and insecurities in stride, and supported him when all he wanted to do was curl up in the corner of the room and not see the light of day for the next century. 

Wakatoshi, _his_ Wakatoshi, especially, stood by him unwaveringly. He did more than just accept Satori, he _loved_ him. Anyone would say they were too young, too inexperienced, too blinded by teenage infatuation, to say it was _love_ , but Satori liked to think he knew better. He and Wakatoshi had a bond like he had never seen before, in life, _or_ in fiction. They clicked together, perfect complements and counterparts, opposites and equals. 

But three years was such a short, short time, and yet, Satori had found a home at Shiratorizawa, in his team, and in Wakatoshi. He was going to miss it. There wasn’t a way he _couldn’t_ miss it, the pranks and antics and laughter, but also the quieter moments where they leaned on each other, when he and Wakatoshi held each other—they had been the best three years of his life so far. 

But, life keeps moving forward. Satori had graduated. Wakatoshi had graduated. Semi and Reon and Hayato—they all had to go their separate ways. 

Six days, and he missed them already.

* * *

“Toshiiiiiiiii, I miss you,” Satori whined, when Wakatoshi answered the video call, hugging a round plush Gengar propped under his chest. He was laying on his stomach on his childhood bed, ankles crossed in the air behind him. When he was bored or lonely, which was often, because he was cooped up at his mother’s house, he’d call Wakatoshi, or another friend, and talk to them, or “annoy” them, as Semi called it, to entertain himself and stave off any familiar feeling of isolation.

Satori’s view shook with swirling lights, movements, and muted colors as Wakatoshi, presumably, left wherever he had been before to head to his bedroom.

“ _Wakatoshiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii_ ,” he whined, again. Satori was pretty sure talking to him over video chat wasn’t something that was particularly offensive, so he didn’t know _why_ Wakatoshi always headed to a private place before responding. “Wa-ka-to-shiiiiiiiiiiiii,” Satori sang as he heard a door shut on the other end, and finally, his boyfriend’s face came into view as he settled on his bed, back resting against the wall. “Finally, Toshi, I thought you had answered accidentally or something.”

“I’m sorry, Satori, my family was in the same room.” He offered Satori an apologetic smile.

Satori pouted in response. “Do they not like me? You never talk to me on the phone when they’re around and you wouldn’t let me meet them during graduation, either.” 

“They…don’t particularly approve of you, no.” He shrugged slightly.

“ _What!_ ” Satori scrambled into a sitting position. “Is it because I’m also a guy? Not a girl that you can have a fairy tale wedding with, and a house with white picket fences, and have nine kids with so you can pass on the family name?”

“We can still have a fairy tale wedding as men.” Satori froze—Wakatoshi’s words didn’t quite process for a moment, leaving him staring wide-eyed at the screen as his cheeks suddenly grew hot. “But, yes,” Wakatoshi continued, “I think it may partially be because of the potential lack of biological children in my future.”

“Wh—Wakatoshi, you can’t just _say_ that!” Satori buried his face in his hands.

“Say what? That it would be difficult to have biological children with you?” One of Wakatoshi’s eyebrows was raised, questioning, but Satori could see a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“No! The—well, yes, it would be very _hard_ because neither one of us has a uterus, and I don’t like kids anyway, but no! The wedding thing!” He pointed accusingly at his screen.

Wakatoshi’s smirk only grew. “I was only teasing, Satori. We can have a small wedding instead.”

“ _Wakatoshi!_ ”

“But, I…haven’t told them the…nature of our relationship, either.” Wakatoshi looked somewhere slightly off-screen.

“Wait…you said they don’t approve of me. What are you saying?” Satori was taken aback. It had always seemed to Satori like Wakatoshi’s family didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t “dishonor” the family name. Satori knew they were… _traditional_ , but he had always been led to believe that their relationship was something that fell into the “doesn’t affect the family legacy” category.

“They believe you’re…only a friend. An eccentric and overly affectionate friend, but nothing more.” Wakatoshi’s brow was creased, eyes trained intently on something in his room. Not Satori.

“Are you…are you _going_ to tell them?” Satori’s throat felt tight. He had been so sure that nothing could get between him and Wakatoshi, that their relationship was secure. Wakatoshi had never told him, not once in the entire time they had been dating, that his family could possibly put an end to everything, their happiness included, if they found out they were together.

“I’m still…testing the waters. I don’t know how they’ll react yet.” 

“Then how is it that they don’t ‘approve’ of me? They don’t know about us, so what’s it to them that I’m ‘eccentric’ or ‘affectionate’?” Wakatoshi was usually so honest, but now he was avoiding Satori’s question. It was frustrating, watching him beat around the bush, to save Satori’s feelings. He had been called worse things than that, though what Wakatoshi’s family _actually_ said was likely coming through his filter. But, the words Satori had been insulted with in the past was no matter, not this time.

Satori pleaded, with his eyes, for Wakatoshi to look at him again, to answer. He didn’t want to force him to talk if he didn’t want to, but Satori needed to know if this “disapproval” would prevent him from seeing Wakatoshi. He…wasn’t strong enough to face the world, not by himself. 

Wakatoshi finally looked back into the camera of his phone. “They…make assumptions, Satori.”

“Well, if they’re assuming I’m not straight, they’re not wrong.” Satori huffed and hugged the Gengar to his chest more tightly. Everybody made assumptions—Satori was _used_ to that.

“It goes deeper than that. They _do_ assume you’re not straight, but what they don’t approve of is your…presence around me. They think you’ll—”

“Corrupt you? Turn you gay, too?” Satori laughed, a caustic sharpness to it. Then, his tone mellowed a little, with humor. “Well, then they’re a little late, don’t you think?” 

Wakatoshi finally gave Satori one of his rare smiles, not quite so rare for _him_ anymore, but they still made warmth spread through his chest every time. “Yes, I suppose they are too late.”

“But,” Satori’s voice softened to a timid whisper, “you’re not going to let them do anything, right? You won’t leave me?” He searched Wakatoshi’s face, the camera lending his features an indistinct, grainy quality, looking for signs that he was just itching to get away from him, that he thought Satori was a freak, that he was actually just pretending to like him—all things Satori couldn’t help but worry about. But all he saw was Wakatoshi’s eyebrows knit together and his eyes fix upon Satori’s face with concern.

“No, Satori, of course not. I won’t let them do anything to you, and I’m not going to leave you.” Wakatoshi’s voice was tender. 

Satori sniffed. “I just—I don’t know, I—”

“I know it’s hard for you to believe me sometimes when I say these things, but I would never hurt you like that. Okay, Satori?” he asked gently. It was something of an assertion, a declaration with an undertone of quiet insistence.

Satori nodded and dragged his sleeve across both eyes roughly, mopping up the tears threatening to spill over. “Sorry, Toshi.” He laughed, the sound tinged slightly with bitterness. “Sorry for being all weird and clingy. And for being a crybaby all the time.” 

“Don’t apologize. I don’t mind reassuring you that I truly want to be here, with you. Because I want you, with me, as much as you want it, too.” Wakatoshi’s stare was loving, but also forceful. It kind of amused Satori, how Wakatoshi was so adamant about making his love for him known. 

Amusing, but also endearing in the way that made him tear up again, through a smile. Satori really didn’t know what he did to deserve such a kind, loving, and earnest boyfriend. “Toshi…you’re gonna make me cry for real this time.” 

“Crying is good. It’s a release. Don’t be afraid to cry, Satori, especially around me.”

“Toshiiiiii, this is what I mean! You being all sweet and caring and stuff. I’m gonna bawl now and it’s all your fault.” Satori giggled. “Too bad I can’t cry all over you and get your shirt wet again.” he said, grinning impishly. 

“You can come over. I’ll hold you and you can soak my shirt, since you’re so inclined to do so.” Wakatoshi had his own mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Wow, _rude!_ I don’t cry _that_ often!” Satori stuck his tongue out as Wakatoshi smirked. “And besides, by the time I got there, I wouldn’t have to cry anymore.” He waved a hand, brushing through his easy conversational “victory.”

“You could come over anyway.”

Satori froze, mid-gesture. “Are—are you sure?” He dropped the waving arm to cradle his phone in both hands. “I thought your family didn’t like me. And, isn’t that kinda a risk? That they might, you know, find us out?” Satori wasn’t so sure that was a chance he wanted to flirt with, in case he slipped up and ruined everything.

“They know we’re best friends. Is it unusual for best friends to visit each other?” Satori’s mouth quirked at Wakatoshi’s response. He was trying to, well, _deceive_ his family with his usual stoicism and bluntness. He would offer nothing but the norm, just best friends hanging out before leaving for college and the pro leagues. They would never expect their _exceedingly normal_ , in the ways that mattered to them, of course, _son_ was sneaking in time to see his boyfriend; that was the sentiment the whole plan was banking on.

“So…a sleepover?”

* * *

Satori had only been to one other sleepover in his life. It was, if he had to put it mildly, a _disaster_. 

He had been invited as a cruel prank—and he had known it. Satori could see right through the too-casual coolness of the “friend” that invited him and the muffled laughter of the rest of the kids gathered around. He had wanted to refuse, to laugh it off, to crumple up the little card of creamy, heavyweight paper, messy blue pen in a thirteen-year-old’s handwriting scrawled across it. 

But there had been so many eyes on him, pressure all around him that he could feel like ghostly hands on his body, snickers hidden behind hands echoing off the lockers. The afternoon sun through the window had been too bright, making his eyes burn; or perhaps those were the tears prickling at the back of his eyes. A drop of sweat had slid down his back, suddenly, and he had to resist the urge to arch his spine in surprise. 

Too many people, too many eyes, too much anticipation of what the school “freak” was going to do. 

And Satori had buckled. He had taken the invite, gingerly, thanked his classmate politely, and shoved through the hallway. He had wanted to be above that, be true to himself, tell that two-faced kid what he _really_ thought of him, but he had chickened out at the last second. The only solace he could find, as he ran home, tears running down his face and gasping with sobs, was that he hadn’t given his “audience” a show.

Satori had planned to hide the invite when he got home until he could throw it away discreetly, hopefully _after_ the date of the sleepover had safely passed, because his mother was notoriously pushy in all the areas of Satori’s life where he wanted to be left alone. She couldn’t care less about him, it seemed, except when she was trying to force him to be normal, or mold him into a perfect replica of her own selfish image. He hated what she wanted him to be: spiteful, self-centered, obsessed with having the ideal life, being the ideal son. 

Living with her again after graduation was hell.

But, despite his careful planning, his flawless poker face, Satori was foiled almost immediately. He had come home, offered his mother a non-committal review of his day at school, and rushed to his room immediately. That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence; Satori did it almost every day to avoid whatever judgement his mother had in store for him. 

Unfortunately, that night was the night his mother decided to go through his backpack and notebooks, without his knowledge. It had been while Satori was in the shower, so he had been thoroughly unaware of her snooping. He probably should have expected it, though, because _that_ hadn’t been the first time. However, usually she demanded he bring her his bag, and watch as she pulled everything out, looking at and tossing things aside into haphazard piles, hoping to see shame or embarrassment on his face at having something she considered “abnormal.” Satori had long since stopped thinking the Jump magazines he liked were something to be ashamed of, at least, in front of his mother.

But, Satori couldn’t have helped how he froze when he saw her smoothing the crumpled cardstock when he had come back out. He had watched, rooted to the spot, as her eyes darted across the paper, as she had turned to him, finally, with an expression Satori had never seen her look at him with before, on her face. 

Was it pride? Pleasure? Satisfaction? He hadn’t known. All he knew is that she had demanded to know when he had made such a generous friend. And he had replied truthfully: he hadn’t made a “generous” friend and he wasn’t going. 

Then, the warmth had disappeared, replaced by her usual thin motherly veneer over disgust with him. She had screamed at him, called him ungrateful and stupid and _rude_ , for “standing up a friend like that,” and sent him to his room, crying. Trying to explain to his mother that the “friend” that invited him was anything but that, was fruitless.

Satori’s dread had grown as the date on the invite, stuck to the fridge in a place of honor, where he assumed parents _usually_ hung their children’s art, drew closer. He knew better than to put up a fight if he wanted to avoid further punishment, the type that would be hidden under his clothes at school, but Satori would be painfully reminded of at any twist or stretch. He knew better, so he had said nothing, only let the growing fear gnaw at him every day, even as he avoided his newfound “friend” at school.

And, despite his wishing that the day would never come, it had. Satori had been forced to go, had submitted to his mother’s will, had cried the entire way there. He had been dropped off, ushered through the door, plopped right in with all the cruelest bullies in his school, in an unfamiliar house.

Satori had seriously considered running away, but he couldn’t go home without inviting the wrath of his mother and being dropped right back off where he started, so where, he had wondered, could he go? Wandering around all night wasn’t safe, and neither was sleeping in a park. Satori hadn’t had any friends he could trust at the time, so there was no one’s house he could just show up, unannounced. His father was barely home, and when he was, he was a coward, too fearful to stand up to Satori’s mother, even for his own son’s sake. 

Satori had been stuck, _trapped_ , and subjected to everything his classmates couldn’t say or do at school. They had pulled out all the stops, said things that teachers would call home about had they been said at school, pushed him around, insulted every part of him: his hair, his face, his body, his personality, his likes, his dislikes, his habits and quirks. They told him he was useless and ugly and weird and friendless, and Satori’s composure had finally cracked when they told him he was “ _better off dead_.”

Everything had all come tumbling down at once, and he had burst into tears right in front of them, his sobs the main attraction over a backdrop of laughter. He had ran blindly through a house he had never been to, until he had found a bathroom, where he had locked himself in for the rest of the night. Satori hadn’t come out for dinner, instead, he spent the time crying. He had finally curled up in a hard corner of cold tile, to sleep, shivering and alone.

He had snuck out at dawn and walked home, just to feed his mother the lie that he had had fun and that all the kids had agreed to walk home in the morning because it was “cool.” She had somehow accepted that answer, taking it as childhood adventurousness, and Satori locked himself in his bedroom for the rest of the weekend.

* * *

Granted, that sleepover wasn’t with his boyfriend, and he had shared a dorm with Wakatoshi for three years, but the term still dredged up painful memories for Satori.

But, he only had to get through one night with those experiences at the forefront of his mind. Then, in the morning, he would pack a bag and walk himself right into Wakatoshi’s arms. 

As Satori brushed his teeth, he wondered what Wakatoshi’s house looked like, what kind of place had he grown up in. Satori had been there twice: once he had waited outside as Wakatoshi got something from within, staying dutifully rooted to the cobbled pathway that led to the door, taking in the appearance of the exterior of the house. From the outside, it was large and traditional, austere, but beautiful, with well-tended plants softening the severity. 

The second time was during a weekend long-run Satori had gone on with Wakatoshi, just the two of them in the heat of the morning sun. They had been several miles into their planned route, and several miles from campus, when Satori, who swore he had been hydrated, started to feel faint. Their speed wasn’t too fast, Satori _never_ ate before running, so there was no change from the norm there, and he was dressed appropriately for the weather, so feeling woozy like he had, had come as a surprise. Wakatoshi had noticed immediately, though, slowed their pace, and guided Satori to his childhood home. 

Satori couldn’t remember much of what the interior looked like aside from the bathroom in which he stuck his head and neck under the shower head, bathing his overheated skin in cool water, occasionally turning sideways to catch some in his mouth to let slide down his parched throat. He had felt dizzy and unsteady, but Wakatoshi had kept him upright, gave him a proper glass of ice water, and called Coach to come pick them up. 

Neither of those instances _really_ counted as being there, so Satori felt safe in calling _this_ time his official first time visiting. It was exciting: really being able to see where Wakatoshi lived—was it really as ascetic on the inside as it looked on the outside? Did that somehow seep into Wakatoshi, giving him that quiet, brutally honest personality Satori knew? He giggled at the thought of Wakatoshi somehow learning how to act from the walls and rooms of his childhood home, not the people he grew up with.

Satori caught himself smiling in the mirror, sharp and catlike—unapproachable to many, disturbing to the rest. He let it drop from his face for a moment, studying the contrast, then stretched it into a wide grin, the one that people had told him looked like it belonged to some kind of monster that “ate souls,” or lived in dark corners waiting for an unsuspecting passerby, or something worse. Satori stared into the mirror, leering at himself before, again, letting his face go slack. 

Those were…cultivated expressions. Satori used them to keep people away from him—if they were scared of him, they wouldn’t try to hurt him, a philosophy Satori employed that rang true _most_ of the time. 

Satori closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath in, before opening them again. He smiled again, but this time it was gentler, more natural—the one Wakatoshi loved and said looked _kind_. The smile that Satori couldn’t help but let slip through in front of his friends and with Wakatoshi. 

It still felt foreign on Satori’s lips from time to time, but he was becoming more accustomed to it every time Wakatoshi made him genuinely laugh, or when he felt safe and warm and comfortable in his arms.

Finally, Satori turned away from the mirror, smiling fondly, flipping the lights off on the way out. He didn’t often leave the bathroom after looking in the mirror smiling.

He didn’t bother with any lights in his bedroom; he could see just fine in the dimness; light filtered through thin curtains from the streetlight outside his window, illuminating his room. He padded across the floor, then wiggled into his nest of blankets on the bed. Satori took a moment to locate his Gengar again, hugged it tightly to his chest, and closed his eyes.

Just one more night until Satori could see Wakatoshi again. Just _one_ more night. 

Satori rolled over onto his stomach, Gengar squished under his chest, and groaned. _Just one more night_ —he really was pathetic. He couldn’t last a week without seeing Wakatoshi. How was he going to fare during college? He had been accepted to a number of schools, some close, some far, some international. Satori hadn’t yet made the final choice on which one he was going to attend, but none of them were going to be near Wakatoshi, especially if he was going to be traveling with a pro team. He would be at the mercy of distance and schedules and appointments and time zones, if either of them ended up traveling internationally. 

Satori whined into his pillow. Who was he kidding? _Of course_ Wakatoshi would be traveling, he would be on the national team. It would be _him_ that wouldn’t have the time or money to stop by when Wakatoshi was close. 

Satori turned over onto his back, flinging his arms wide and clenching his jaw as he gathered his resolve: he had made his choice, chosen the path he wanted to forge, he couldn’t let doubt stop him when he was _so close_.

So close…but still a few months away. 

“Qui n’avance pas, recule,” Satori whispered into the dark, “who does not advance, retreats.” He curled up on his side, the taste of the foreign proverb lingering on his lips. It was a promise to himself to persevere, to not let fear keep him stagnant and decaying. 

Wakatoshi _wasn’t_ in the past, so there was no reason to remain there, only an incentive to move forward, side-by-side, as Wakatoshi chased his ambitions, too.

Satori drifted off to sleep, dreams of the future swirling in his mind.


End file.
